


These Cold Waters

by Bellobelle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellobelle/pseuds/Bellobelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Arthur's assassination, Merlin faces the greatest struggle he's ever had to confront: Moving on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Cold Waters

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to major character death, this work contains talk of suicide (but no characters are suicidal) and mentions of homophobia.

The slap of the newspaper landing on the table snaps Merlin into the present. He blinks at the headline before inching his gaze up to meet Morgana’s. He braces himself.

“Merlin,” she starts, and her voice is exactly how Merlin expected it to be: full of disapproval, simultaneously laced with worry. Merlin internally cringes. She sits opposite him, so Merlin has no choice but to look at her. He didn’t mean to cause her more grief, she’s been through just as much as he has these past few weeks. He can tell from the bags under her eyes that are becoming less subtle with each passing day, and the downward pull of her lips, held in place by a stubborn jaw. God, she holds together just like Arthur did in times of stress, hiding it until it became too much to cover with makeup and false smiles. Merlin hates those smiles.

“What were you thinking?” Morgana asks. When Merlin doesn’t reply, she taps a manicured nail on the newspaper between them. 

Merlin looks down at it.

**‘Heartbroken Husband to Late Prince Arthur Attempts to take own Life.'**

He looks back up at Morgana. 

“It isn’t true,” He tells her.

“I know that,” She says, “I do, but you can’t act like this is nothing. It’s the press, they don’t care whether it’s true, they care what’s juicy. And...Merlin, it did scare me when I saw it.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says. Morgana sighs with her whole body. 

“What were you even doing up there?”

Merlin peers at the grainy photo beneath the big block letters. It shows Merlin in jeans and Arthur’s favorite sweatshirt, profile illuminated by the yellow streetlamp turned white by the colorlessness of the photo. Eyes closed, his head hangs in the perfect picture of sorrow, as if he is bowing to the power of the River Thames below the bridge on which Merlin is so precariously perched. 

Alright, Merlin admits, that does look exactly like he’s about to jump.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” Merlin says, “I just needed to think.”

“So you sat on the edge of Southwark Bridge?” Morgana says, voice dangerously close to a cry.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Merlin shrugs. Truthfully, he hadn’t been thinking much at all. He just needed to get out and get away. “The sound of the water clears my head. You know, white noise.”

“You had to do that in public?” Morgana says, “There are dozens of places in London you could have gone that are perfectly private.”

“I know,” Merlin says, “I wasn’t thinking about that. I was just thinking about--”

“About Arthur?”

Merlin falls silent. Morgana stares at him, sympathy in every feature of her face. 

“I know you’re still grieving,” Morgana says quietly, “So am I. Britain and half the world are. It’s going to take a long time to move past this. But,’ Her gaze turns troubled, “you’re scaring me with this.”

Merlin wrinkles his brow. 

“I’m afraid one day this,” Morgana taps the newspaper again, “Won’t be just a false headline. What if one day it becomes true?” 

“You think I’d actually try to off myself?” Merlin asks. “I’d never do that.”

“I know. Deep down I know,” Morgana says, “But these past weeks I can’t help but be worried about you.” 

The last three weeks and four days.

“I’m sorry. I’m still, you know, processing.”

“You haven’t changed since we heard the news,” Morgana points out, “That’s not progress.”

She sounds just like Alice, Merlin thinks. His grief counselor repeatedly tells him he needs to learn how to move on, so much so that Merlin tunes her out during their sessions. He knows he should pay attention to her, but he can’t listen to someone who didn’t even know Arthur tell him how to mourn him. He isn’t ready to let go, probably never will be. 

“It’s good to grieve,” Alice always says, her tone infuriatingly patient. “I’m not saying forget, I’m saying move on.”

But Merlin can’t move on, he can’t, not when he spent so long fighting for a chance at a happy life with Arthur, made so many sacrifices, only to have it all torn away. 

If Merlin could bring himself to open up to Alice, he’d lament that it’s not fair, the way everything happened. Merlin lost friends, surrendered control of his own life to Arthur’s supervisors, forfeited any chance at living in peace, but it had been worth it. He didn’t need all of that, not really, not when he had Arthur. 

throwing things across the room, yelling bitter words, Merlin might tell Alice how bullshit it is that after three years of fighting, of scrutiny by the public, being hounded by the media, every aspect of their lives taken and torn apart by speculation, rumor, and ridicule. Then a year after that spent as the new royal couple, after an engagement and highly publicised royal wedding, when Merlin and Arthur had ridden through the streets of spectators hand in hand, braving the voices crying out in both joy and outrage. 

“Long live the royal couple!” Some people yelled. “You’re leading us to a wonderful new era!” “So brave,” “So handsome,” “To love!” “To happiness!” “To equality for all!” 

“Scandal!” Others had cried, “The prince of Wales cannot marry a man, he’s meant to be the head of the Church of England one day!” “Sinners!” “Traitors!” “An outrage!” “A shame!” 

All the voices crying out, either to support or oppose, they all melted into one saying “Your lives belong to us now.” 

It was maddening, but it was never truly violating. Arthur was Merlin’s forever, and what did the opinions of thousands of people have against eternity? As long as Merlin had Arthur’s hand in his own, everyone else’s opinions were insignificant. 

Then four months after that, when the public finally, finally grew bored and the magazines began to advertize actor’s lives instead of Merlin and Arthur’s, they finally were given some peace. 

Until three weeks ago, when Arthur was boarding a plane for a visit to Italy and Merlin had to stay in London, and Merlin found himself staring horror struck at the television as Arthur was shot three times in the chest.

“Please at least try to let go of him,” Morgana pleads. Merlin hears her voice as though from the other end of a tunnel. On his end is the River Thames. 

“I’m trying,” He lies.

“No, you’re not.”

It’s no use arguing with her. He keeps his eyes averted, staring blindly at the polished surface of the table. Sounds crawl up from his memory and surround him. The people on TV screaming, the gunshots, loud and sharp, Morgana crying, the news reporter stuttering his way through a story he does not yet know the ending of, nor the purpose behind.

At the time, Merlin’s numb ears didn’t hear any of them at all. It wasn’t until much later, when they were telling him “No, you can’t see him yet,” that the sounds attacked his brain full force.

_Bang._

_“He’s still in critical condition--”_

_Bang._

_“He’s lost a lot of blood--”_

_Bang._

_We can’t let you in until he’s been stabilized--”_

_“The killer appears to be a white male, country of origin unknown, seen fleeing the scene moments ago--”_

_“Mr. Emrys, please stop shouting--”_

_“It is unclear whether this is a crime against the Prince or the State--”_

_“Mr. Emrys, we will sedate you if we have to--”_

They consume him, these sounds, beating him senseless until he can hardly hear anything else, not Morgana, not Alice, but maybe the Thames as it churns beneath his dangling feet. 

“Don’t abandon us,” Morgana says. 

Merlin had struggled until everything went black, and he woke up in a hospital bed of his own.

“We can’t tell you anything yet,” said Merlin’s supervisor, casting a wary glance at the horde of press milling about outside the room.

“I don’t give a fuck about them, where is Arthur?”

“Press are probably bugging this room, we can’t say anything until--”

“Where is he?”

Merlin clenches his jaw, hard. “They didn’t even let me see him,” he chokes, tears springing into his eyes as he meets Morgana’s gaze. “They drugged me and when I woke up he was already dead.”

Morgana nods along. She knows what they did, how they sedated Merlin and robbed him of any precious last moments he might have had by Arthur’s side. 

“We’ve been through Arthur’s death, we don’t want to lose you too.”

“I’m still here.”

“No, you’re not. You haven’t been here for weeks, not really. You’re dying!”

“I’m still eating and everything,” Merlin points out.

“That’s not enough. You’re not--”

“Not what?” Merlin asks, “Not happy?”

“Well--”

“It’s pretty obvious why!”

Morgana closes her eyes. Merlin wonders what she’s telling herself. 

He looks back down at the photo of him sitting on the bridge. 

_‘Merlin emrys, Prince Arthur’s widower, moments from throwing himself to his death,’_ The caption reads. 

Dull anger stirs in his gut as he picks up the paper. The article is dramatic, designed to pull the heartstrings of the readers. It speaks in the form of a tragedy novella. It tells of how the husband of the late Prince, consumed by grief and agony, spent two hours teetering on the edge, working up the courage to end his pain, before he was stopped by a brave civilian and handed over to his body guards. 

“I’m not even on suicide watch,” Merlin mutters.

“Yes you are,” Morgana says, opening her eyes to stare seriously at him. “As long as the journalists can milk this story, you may as well be putting cyanide in your soup.”

“Why can’t they leave me alone?” Merlin says, tossing the paper back on the table and rubbing his hands over his eyes. 

“It’s what you signed up for with this family,” Morgana says. 

“But I’m not a royal. I was just married to one, and I’m not even that anymore.” 

He closes his mouth as soon as he hears his voice break, teeth digging painfully into his lower lip.

Morgana’s whole body seems to deflate. “You’re always going to be his,” she says, “As soon as you went public with him, you knew there would be no going back.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything. 

“I love you like I loved my brother. I can’t stand by and watch you fade away. Things like this--” She gestures to the newspaper-- “need to stop.”

“It isn’t even true,” Merlin says, voice wobbling. 

“That doesn’t matter. It’s on the news.”

Suddenly Merlin is reminded of the way he stared at the television, wishing and begging the news not to be true. His vision becomes filled with the video clip, captured from a hundred angles from two hundred camera phones.

“Make it stop,” Merlin had willed the TV, but the treasonous news gave him no relief. The clip was played over and over, without end, advertising the way Arthur violently jerked back with each red dot that appeared on his shirt. 

_Bang._

_stop._

_Bang._

_you’re lying._

_Bang._

_please, no._

The images and sounds invade Merlin’s mind again, while Morgana’s worried face becomes distorted, and his ears become blocked by the memory of sirens. 

Merlin doesn’t realize he’s moved until he’s on his feet and the newspaper is in a crumpled heap where the wall meets the floor. 

“It isn’t fair,” Merlin trembles. 

“I know,” Morgana says, jumping to her feet and wrapping Merlin in a hug.

“It isn’t fair,” He repeats into her shoulder, as the tears finally break free and escape with a sob.

“Shh,” Morgana whispers, “I know, Merlin, I know.”

She tightens her grip, but Merlin can’t bring himself to return the hug. Instead he just stands and cries.

He sobs into her shoulder, ugly and loud tears that erupt from him and echo around the room. Distantly, Merlin hears the sound of hastily retreating footsteps. Probably one of the kitchen staff who accidentally walked in on this private moment, maybe drawn by the sound of the newspaper hitting the wall. 

They stand there, Merlin crying and Morgana holding him tightly, until Merlin finally hiccups into heavy breathing. 

“You’ll be alright,” Morgana promises, pulling away to look Merlin in the eyes. “It’s going to take some time, but this will pass.”

Merlin nods. He doesn’t know what else to do.

“But you have to try,” Morgana says, “We don’t need any more of that.” She jerks her head in the direction of the newspaper on the floor. 

“I will,” Merlin says, “I’ll try.”

“You better,” Morgana says.

Merlin smiles at her, probably the first genuine smile in weeks. It’s tired, and a little broken, but it’s real. 

“Thanks, Morgana.”

Morgana smiles at him, cupping his cheek in her palm. 

Merlin will try. It’ll take forever, and there will be times when he’ll want to break down and give up, but he never will. He’ll start talking more, start opening up to Alice.

Eventually, the sound of the gunshots will be replaced in Merlin’s head with the sound of Arthur’s laughter, and in place of the blood blooming on Arthur’s shirt will be Arthur’s smile. Not the one given freely to the press, but the real one that Merlin had the privilege to see when they were in bed alone together. 

It will be hard, and it will be a long journey. Maybe the ache in Merlin’s heart will never leave him alone. But with the help of Morgana and everyone else, he’ll learn to cope with it. 

Slowly, as Merlin wipes the tears from his face and rubs a hand over his exhausted eyes., Merlin begins to heal.


End file.
